


If the Walls Could Speak

by Candyfloss_And_Fairymoss



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Cup takes advantage of his height disadvantage, Dice spends the day wondering just when he's gonna get some that isn't interrupted or teasing, F/M, M/M, also a new pairing, cuphead is 21+ in all my writings, decided that i was done with this one eh, how on earth does mr wheezy DO anything?, maybe ill change my mind but for rn eh, started out a porn now we srs af, the devil teases everyone, the third chapter woulda just had one couple but i decided to do smthn else, this actually became exploring why some of the residents sold their souls????? go figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candyfloss_And_Fairymoss/pseuds/Candyfloss_And_Fairymoss
Summary: Different Places, Different Stories, Different couples, all with the same theme: the passion had there, moments personal and powerful.





	1. The Casino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Casino is a place of lust and greed. Some snippets of moments had there.

**_The Main Floor_ **

Trysts during the working day were not unheard of, from workers and customers alike. The tables provided perfect cover for wandering hands, exposed midriffs, and signals for others to follow someone to the boarding rooms in the back of the building.

They watch customers come and go: the boarding rooms, behind the stage, and right at the dealers tables under their noses. Even the owners, as the Devil would well know. 

He leans back in his secondary throne in the Casino, concealed by darkness and a curtain guarded by two demons, and grins. Cigar smoke curls around him as he growls in pleasure, his clawed hands fisting in the hair of his visitor, urging them on. They look up at him, doe eyed, and suck in their cheeks around his member. He grins back, bucking his hips slowly until they get the idea and speed up. Its not often he gets to relax this way, and he finds fun in changing his form from time to time to keep them guessing, and finds himself laughing as they cope with his ever shifting endowment.

His company decides that it's time to surprise the Devil back, humming low in their throat as they take him to the hilt, their hand coming up to dance along his sheath before gripping the base of his cock and pumping.

To be fair, he holds back as he cums, but finds half his load slicking its way down his thighs as they cough and sputter.

"Again?"

They nod vigorously, and he takes a deep drag on his cigar as they begin anew.

............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

**_The Laundry Room_ **

Just a few moments ago, Dice was slipping laundry into the washing machine and wondering if he should use a different washing powder than last time, and perhaps some softener. 

Now he's at the mercy of a Cup that snuck in behind him, when he was sure he was asleep.

His tie is undone, and Cup uses it as a leash, holding him right against the washer that has now entered its spin cycle. Dice bucks his hips as the vibrations make his cock weep and wring scandalous sounds from his throat. He leans forward to attempt to steal kisses, and Cup leans away, only to gain hickeys along his shoulders. He laughs, his other hand reaches behind him to kick up the power of the washer. Dice yelps, his hips bucking violently as he begs for relief, only to have the washer shut off, cycle finished before he does. He watches Cuphead let go of his tie, and sit back, his arousal evident, "Well, are you going to wait for an invitation?"

He doesn't bother, pulling Cup forward and yanking his shorts off before undoing his pants, "Turn the washer back on. You need a taste of your own medicine."

..........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

**_Backstage_ **

He loves to watch her dance, especially on Fridays. Burlesque shows are the main draw for Fridays now.

She stands tall, large swan feather fans conceal her body as she walks along the stage, her eyes enticing the audience as she gives them peeks of her body. A low bass tune thumps through the place and makes him sit up a little taller in his seat to see her. She flutters her fans and he grins, knowing her eyes are on him if only momentarily, and then one fan gets dropped to the stage and she turns her backside to the audience as she shimmies one strap of her two piece ensemble down her shoulder, then the other, and with one hand unclasps the back of the bra-like top and tosses it to the audience. Where it lands on a dreamy faced Mr. Wheezy.

Ironically, Mr. Wheezy, wheezes.

The dance doesn't last long after that: Pirouletta teases them with the fan, revealing something new every few seconds, from a long slender leg, to a thin midriff, to the side of her breast. The song ends, she curtsies, and the curtains obscure her from view to the backdrop of applause. He waits a moment for everyone to go back about their buisness, and then slips through a door near the stage. 

She is waiting for him. And he grins, before conjuring arms of smoke and ash, as well as a torso. Its an odd feeling for a moment, but then he's there, tall and built and intimidating. His large hands come forward to cup small breasts, and encircle her waist. She remarks that he is warm, and he remarks that she makes him feel warmer every day.

He smells of smoke, bergamot, and musk. She of French perfume and powder. They mix to create something sensual and sinful.

She leaves scratches along his back, and he leaves marks on her shoulders. 

Though patrons see her dance, see her flirtatiously croon and sing, he is the only one who takes her home at night, and meets her backstage after every show.

He gets to see her in afterglow.

........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

**_The Garden_ **

This was a pleasure garden, after all, he needn't be so surprised to catch them here.

But he is, regardless, and ducks behind a bush.

He isn't privy to their times alone, but he can hear them speaking. And moving, and the stifled yelps and moans and begging.

"People can hear you, Cuphead, you need to work on your volume."

"I can't be quiet when you-", and then a yelp, "- _DO that!"_

"Hush~"

He is tempted to jump out. Well, one could call it temptation...

If he didn't do just that.

"DICE!" he strides round the corner, and stops dead.

Cuphead has a chip along the side of his rim, and Dice, with glue in hand is trying to put him to rights again.

"Yes? You don't have ta yell?"

"N-Nevermind!", he looks to the roses across the small space they sit in, "How'd you chip your head?"

"Dice dropped me."

"You jumped down from my shoulders!"

..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

**_The Bar_ **

Mugman doesn't often drink, but when he does, he often surprises those around him. He doesn't often come to the casino either, but today he makes an exception.

He returns from the barkeep with two drinks, takes his seat, and passes one to Cala Maria. She presses a grateful kiss to his temple, and then sips from the margarita glass. Its a quiet night, there aren't many patrons in the bar. They enjoy their drinks and conversation, and wait for Dice to return with Cuphead for their unofficial date night.

When the boot shifts, Mug looks up to greet his brother, but pauses when he sees it is not his brother, but one of Dice's men. If he had to guess -and he doesn't, pardon the saying, the name was written all over his face- its Whiskey, sans his usual crew. 

"Well now, whats a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this."

"Drinking with my boyfriend, ", Cala doesn't even bother looking the bottle in the eyes, "Can't you see?"

Mug finds himself smiling proudly, and then frowning as Whiskey goes to speak again, "Whaddya say we ditch the shortie and go have some real fun?"

Before he can stop himself, Mug leans forward on his elbow, "Whaddya say we talk like I'm here, tumbler face?", part of him wonders just where the hell that came from, and another is waiting on the response. 

"Well~, ya wanna talk big man? Lets talk!", he leans forward, "Lets settle this over a round of drinks, winner gets to talk to this lovely lady for the rest of the night."

"Mugs,", her hand lands on his shoulder, "Don't bother, I'm not interested in a one shot drink.", she grins venomously at Whiskey.

"He got more shots than me!?", he straightens to his full height and eyes her in a way that makes Mug wonder if pushing him out of the booth and onto the floor would be childish at this point, "A full bottle like me and  _he_ has more shots?"

"More filling ones at least~"

The sentence has two meanings, and Mug finds himself blushing a deep red, but proudly wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Whiskey stutters over his next sentence, then gets out of the booth to sulk away somewhere else. When Mug is sure he's out of earshot, he almost collapses on the table while Cala snickers into her drink at his flushed face.

"More filling shots?", he is shaking with laughter that he isn't sure is nervous or genuine, "Cala,  _what?"_

"More filling shots of what?"

They rocket up into their seats, watching as Dice and Cup sidle in beside them, "Nothing!"

"Its a cum joke, Dice.", Cup blurts out, nonchalantly, as he waves over a waiter.

"CUPHEAD!"


	2. The Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forest is a place of calm and strength. Snippets of life and love in The Forest

**_The Garden_ **

Early morning in the forest is one of Cagney's favorite times.

Its quiet as he stretches to reach the light filtering between the trees, and he takes a moment to listen to the sounds of a still slumbering forest.

He can hear the squirrels in the trees, moving slightly, the creatures below, from bugs to beetles to the occasional mole, scurry to and fro. The dew on the grass glitters like diamonds, and the smell of soaked earth is calming. Perhaps it rained in the night? 

Its a sight he never tires of, but one he is prepared to leave for the day.

He draws his leaves in close, and his petals close fast as he slowly sinks to the ground, and beneath the soil. He has an intricate root system, it spans the whole forest, its how he gets around. He travels along it, past the roots of oaks much older than he, around stones and bones and the homes of the aforementioned creatures of the subterrain, and soon past the large fence posts that have been driven into the ground around the garden.

The earth here is rich and dark, it smells of rain and plant food. He surfaces near a large plot of tilled ground that looks devoid of life and shakes the clinging soil from his stem and petals, looking around for-

"Hello, Pretty."

He turns fast then, seeing a large bed-like divot in the ground just a few feet from him. He smiles at the occupant, a larger than life carrot.

"Psy."

He smiles a sleepy sort of smile before gesturing for Cagney to join him in the plant bed, gently taking his hand as he lays beside him. Psy dots kisses over his face while Cagney mimics the action with his petals, they smile and laugh sleep-drenched laughs, their hands intertwined gently. Cagney soon notices an interesting addition to Psy's physique: a plumage of white flowers upon his usually hunter green leaves, they shower pollen down upon him. Its very late in the growing season for flowers and vegetables alike, but Cagney smiles.

"Carnation carrots might be a nice hybrid.", he brushes a swath of pollen from his cheek, he can't let it stay there.

"Perhaps next growing season.", Psy reaches up and tilts the flowers away, he can't deny that he would like to try, but to pollinate this late was unheard of.

"I'd like that."

And Psy finds that he would, too.

............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

**_The Grove_ **

Goopy LeGrande was an old great. A prized fighter. A legend.

With those titles came a lot of things that went unsaid: a role model, an inspiration, a champ.

A blast from the past.

It is one thing to be at the top, to watch those who admire you aspire to be like you. You watch them grow and mimic your movements, your legacy, and you feel proud. Then, as you watch them switch to strategy, to planning, to working for your ultimate downfall as they scramble to your ankles, you feel a sense of dread.

He had managed to hold to the top of the pile for a very long time. One could say, a  _sinful_ amount of time. And then they came along.

Ribby and Croaks. Two brothers, a team. They were labeled as renaissance men of the ring, legends, paragons, all within months of their debut.

Goopy can remember when they were just barely frogs, that hadn't even absorbed their tadpole tails yet. They had asked for autographs, they had idolized him. They followed his every fight, his moves, his fame.

Hilariously, and its a  _funny_ sort of hilarity, they make the same foolish mistake he does to gain fame.

While Goopy had sold his soul for the ability to remain alive in fame no matter what the cost or cause, The Fighting Frog Brothers had asked for the ability to make it to the very top no matter who they had to beat or how they had to do it.

This sealed Goopy's fate, in more ways than one. 

The last day he hopped into the ring, grinning like a Cheshire and strutting like a young rooster, had been the day the brothers shakily ducked beneath the ropes and waved to their small fan base that took up all of 10 seats in the bleachers. He shook hands with them, told them he remembered them, wished them luck. They had shakily accepted his hand, and grinned, they remembered him too. One brother drops below the ropes again, and takes a seat. 

The bell dings, and they're off. 3 rounds for each brother, this was the fight of the century. Goopy had refused a partner, the brothers both had to fight him to claim any glory: a 9 round match that would go down in history.

When Ribby beats him, he isn't sure what to think. He shakes his hand, his grin feels like porcelain, there is an intermission.

When Croaks beats him, he notices a pair of goldenrod eyes in the audience, eyes that had bored holes in him while handing him a piece of paper that basically had his life and worth spelled out on it, watching the ring. But not him. These brothers. He feels cheated, but perhaps, that's how he was supposed to feel. 

Even now, after realizing that not being at the top didn't mean he couldn't fight (Cuphead and Mugman relit the fire under him, and he was rearing to go again, even if he had lost to them), he feels like this should be made right. Done fairly.

He practices, he learns their tricks, he emulates and then plans. 

The day comes where he makes his return to the ring, they duke it out.

Halfway though the fights he realizes it doesn't matter who wins anymore, what matters is the feeling. His heart is exhilarated, the fire he was sure had gone out was there and blazing brighter than ever. 

.................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

**_The Observatory_ **

If there was something Hilda Berg loved more than anything in this world it was the stars.

How did they get there, when did they get there, how many where there, how long would they be there, what happened to the one just to the left of this once, and so on.

 "I want to be a star."

"Stars don't live very long.", said the horned man, "They only live for as long as they can burn. Stars burn quite quickly in the scheme of things."

"Oh.", she did know a lot about the stars, but never this much, so she decides to ask for something else, "Then I want to get close to the stars. I want to be in the sky! Like a bird!"

He grins, "And what will you give me? To be a bird?"

She searches her pockets, she looks in her bag, "I have some pocket money-"

"What do I want with a few paltry dollars?", the horned man doesn't look offended in the least, but jovial, "I collect  _souls_ , child! Would you really give me your soul for the stars?"

She thinks about it, what is a soul to her? A concept. She can't feel it or smell it or see it. She is young, and while she knows much about stars she knows little of souls. 

"I will!"

Now she's grown, she has learned that a soul is a very important feature: like the core of a star. 

She is thankful its been returned to her in full. She is thankful that somehow, she has managed to keep her abilities. 

After the party, after thanking the Cup Brothers, she takes to the sky. She climbs higher and higher and higher till she's sure she just might faint at the sight.

Stars converse. Nobody hears them down on earth, but up hear its almost impossible to hear anything else. Its a low hum, their voices like the brass bells of a cathedral. They call to her, they call to each other, they tell stories of planets and people she can't pronounce in her own tongue. She closes her eyes and imagines a constellation: something never seen before, something new to the sky. A formation of 5 stars, a poof of something she is sure is stardust, and she is a constellation all her own. Their low hum becomes understanding and peace as she finds a spot in the heavens for the night. She speaks in a voice like a small brass bell, and they silence just to hear her: she is not an anomaly, but an interesting friend. They answer her in their deep, lovely voices, and she feels at home.

Hilda Berg loves the stars.

The stars love her back.

.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

 


End file.
